Blowing Off Steam
by Thnx4theGum
Summary: B&B aren't getting along and something's got to give. A oneshot for NatesMama's birthday and the "Savage Goodness" challenge over at the Lab. Happy Birthday, NM! Note the T rating for very steamy content, though not quite M.


**Blowing off Steam**

The door slammed hard, rattling clocks and artifacts alike as she stormed into the apartment, huffing all the louder when she found the object of her current ire was slovenly dressed and engrossed in a hockey game. He waved a hand in greeting without turning around and she saw red.

Without bothering to remove her light jacket or the lab coat underneath it, she swiftly covered the distance between the front door and the living room end table. One click of a button drenched them in silence.

Gone was the lackadaisical loafer as he set his beer bottle aside and stood up in one smooth motion, glaring at her, but refusing to give the pleasure of an outburst. She glared back, their noses now only inches apart, then sniffed disdainfully and picked the bottle off of the hardwood floor, making sure no offensive ring was left behind in its wake as she carried it to the kitchen.

For the briefest of seconds he contemplated returning to his game on the couch, but a look over her shoulder told him if he did, it would be his bed indefinitely. Refusing himself even the smallest of sighs he silently waited, listening as glass met glass in the recycling bin slightly harder than it normally did and waiting for her to swoop in on him once again.

If he wanted to be fair, he would recall that he'd been a jerk for the better half of the day, culminating with a no-holds-barred shouting match that echoed off the shiny surfaces of her hallowed house of reason loud enough for the tri-state area to eavesdrop on them. Squinterns had run quivering for shelter and even the hardened veterans knew when to bow out and let the pair be, though he swore he caught bets being taken over how long it would take to find his body once she was finished with him; or if it would be found at all.

For once in his adult life, though, he didn't give a damn about what was fair, or what kind of damage she could inflict on him, or being the understanding one, because on the flip side of the coin, she had known all too well that she was pushing buttons on him that could lead to spontaneous combustion. A guy, no matter how good he was, could only take so much and he'd reached the boiling point and allowed himself to lose the tiniest fraction of control. He'd left the lab letting her know that by going he wasn't ceding the argument, but that she knew where she could find him if she needed him.

**B&B**

Out in the kitchen, the tea kettle was being prepped for boiling while its guardian stewed. Well aware of the fact that she had intentionally provoked him this morning, she was nonetheless displeased with how the situation had quickly spiraled out of control. In the core of her being, she _knew_ that she was the one in the right this time no matter how dogmatic his reply. The provocation had been calculated and necessary, but instead of putting him off-guard enough for her to build her own case, he'd pushed back louder and harder, rooting himself to one side and refusing to be swayed. To say that public decorum had been shed that afternoon would be an understatement.

Seven years ago she would've stalked away and never spoken to him again, five she would've slapped him hard, three she would've chased him down and continued nagging him until he finally relented, and a year ago she would've found somewhere else to stay until they could both get a little perspective. Now, however, she'd let him go, then returned, hoping to find a resolution that would not result in any further conflict. Turning his game off had perhaps not been the best of starts toward reconciliation and she sighed, frustrated with herself.

Leaving the kettle to its own devices, she took five tentative steps toward the living room only to find he had taken five steps toward her. Earth tones clashed with the ethereal, connecting as only they could at the horizon line of understanding. They'd both been right. They'd both been wrong. And in the end, it didn't really matter.

They met at the lips, his tongue skipping the normal pleasantries and demanding access. She granted it, then made demands of her own. Pelvises touched, then ground together as hands roved freely, divesting him of his shirt and her of her jacket. A low growl was in his throat at the sight of her creamy skin framed in blue lab coat and he made it his business to cover every visible square inch with his tongue.

She stumbled backwards, losing her footing in the heels she'd been wearing. As they always had, his strong arms caught her, giving her enough time to kick off the shoes before catching her balance again. The memory of promises made privately in the middle of the night on an ice rink collided with that of vows exchanged before friends and family, professing that change _had_ come, as his left hand pressed hard into her hip, ring and all.

The frenzied dance continued across the room, clothes falling like breadcrumbs to mark the path. This was not a night for tenderness and beds, but walls and floors and whatever other hard surface would provide leverage for whoever happened to be leading at the time. They were reconnecting at the basest of levels and neither one shied away from the heat they generated between themselves.

In the distance the tea kettle shrieked along with the woman. His surname- the only name she'd ever called him- repeating like a chant at their joining. The only syllable that passed his lips was the only nickname she'd ever had and she felt the love they'd spent years denying mix with their lust as the end drew near.

When the thundercloud burst and the moment passed, they found that they were one again; spent, and naked, and heaving in synch for their next breath.

Ever the practical one, she was the first to rise and head to the kitchen to remove the hissing kettle. She turned once the task was completed to find him beside her, asking if it was hot enough for her. Her reply was coy, her metaphor incorrect, but he could've cared less and opted to kiss rather than correct.

Their relationship was, as it ever had been, as charged as their lovemaking. These two people, with their two viewpoints and two methodologies when it came to everything from love to which direction the toilet paper should face, had come together- had com_ple_mented one another- and had rediscovered it was their individual differences that served to fill their individual voids in a way that no one else could ever come close to duplicating.


End file.
